Page 14 of Jump or Fall

Mara

She’d already spent hours combing through the articles and archives Gordon had given her access to, her eyes aching by the time she finally looked away.

It was fascinating—learning about the history of the city that held them captive and the others scattered across the Western Domain—but the longer she read, the heavier it all felt. So much of the world was locked away.

She hoped that would change soon.

Mara leaned back on the couch, holding one of her modified gauntlets.

Hugging Gordon had been a risk. But she’d needed it—needed that moment of closeness. He’d felt so solid, safe. She hadn’t thought it was possible to feel that way around a man again.

He hadn’t pulled away, so maybe he’d wanted it too. Or maybe, like that time she caught his hand by mistake, he was just being polite.

Mara turned the gauntlet over, careful not to push any buttons or touch the dark interface.

A clear casing clicked in and out of place, designed to prevent accidental activation while wearing them.

Gordon had also installed micro lithpacks so they could function independently from the rest of the suit.

How much destruction could they cause?

Images of fiery explosions and charred skin crept into her mind with Dawson at the center of it all.

That was a sweet vision.

Her attention drifted to the rest of her suit sprawled across the couch. It was a standard enforcer model—matte gray ceramic plating and a black Araflex underlayer. The Araflex wasn’t as bulletproof as the plates, but it could stop a blade or shrapnel.

The lithpack was housed on the left hip. Older models had it placed on the back of the chestplate, but a well-placed shot from behind could ignite it. The hip was a harder target.

The plain helmet, with its black glass visor, obscured the wearer’s identity.

To the public, an enforcer was only identifiable by the nickname on their chest. It was usually a variation of their real name, but not always.

And sometimes, the nickname changed—a clever way to keep people suspicious and compliant.

Only the other enforcers knew their real identities through the heads-up display.

She tossed the helmet aside and went to her bedroom. From the back of the closet, she pulled out a box, releasing a puff of stale dust.

Her nose tickled, so she held her breath. Sometimes that worked to suppress it.

No sneeze. Good.

She pried off the lid and carefully sifted through the clothes to reveal her one treasure: a God’s Eye.

The dark gray helmet, marked with a gold triquetra, was one of her few prized possessions. She had purchased it from Hyperion a year earlier. Maybe Dawson knew about it, maybe he didn’t, but she liked to think she had something that was hers.

When powered on, it illuminated a deep red glow that could be dimmed for stealth.

The “eye” was a sphere embedded in the forehead, equipped with sensors to detect visual and auditory input from multiple directions.

She had designed it in anticipation of the synth-mind technology—an “eye of God” that could predict an opponent’s next move and display the most likely outcome.

She kissed the top of the helmet and rested it gently on her bed. Obviously, it wasn’t delicate, but it was special.

She rifled through the box, searching for the small item she wanted to give Gordon.

In a pair of socks, she found the small brass key. She’d bought it a long time ago. It was a fascinating device, used in old locks that relied on pins inside a cylinder. Gordon was always unlocking things, so maybe he would think it was an interesting thing to have.

A quick peek at her tablet revealed it was only 6:10. This day was determined to move as slowly as possible.

With a frustrated sigh, she went to the front window.

Her stomach dropped.

Shit.

Max was parked outside.

“How does this asshole have nothing else to do?” she seethed.

Dawson hadn’t been this watchful in years.

A chill prickled up her arms despite the warmth of the apartment. Mara paced through the living room, gnawing at the inside of her cheek.

Why was he suddenly paying attention? She’d been so good for years . She hadn’t stepped a fucking toe out of line.

How could he possibly know she was up to something?

Her eyes landed on the door and she stopped.

The door.

The fucking door.

Dawson could see what time the biometrics were used to unlock it.

“Shit. Shit. Shit.”

She bolted to the bathroom and splashed cold water on her face, her hands shaking.

The damn door. How did she not think of that?

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a small slot in the mirror—the same size as the key Gordon had given her. He mentioned when they’d met that he had an override key since his hand alone wouldn’t have worked.

A deep unease twisted in her gut. She needed to ask him for an override. But since he had wiped their chat log, she had no way to contact him.

She swallowed the lump in her throat and forced herself to eat a protein bar, choking it down with some water. It sat heavy in her stomach, but she needed the fuel.

Minutes ticked by, her stomach roiling.

Damn it. She couldn’t sit in her cage anymore. Even if she had to sit in the tunnel by herself, it would be better than this.

If Max was outside, then chances were Dawson was elsewhere. Probably being entertained by his new favorite.

She flipped on the television and slipped the modified gauntlets onto her hands.

Her eyes landed on the helmet. It couldn’t stay here—not with Dawson’s increased scrutiny. If he searched her apartment, he might take it away.

Mara shoved the helmet into a bag. It bulged awkwardly, but she didn’t care. Everyone in the building knew where she worked; no one would think twice if they saw her carrying a helmet.

She made it downstairs without anyone seeing and slipped out through the back exit.

The tension eased from her shoulders slightly, but she was still jumpy.

The night air wrapped around her, thick with humidity and the distant scent of rain.

She was starting to look forward to the secretive nighttime walks.

Even while constantly looking over her shoulder, it was the only time she felt free .

Once she made it to the tunnel, she did a quick look around for any watchful eyes and retreated inside.

She took a seat on a ledge and pulled out the helmet. The synth-mind was already installed in this one. Another secret.

She powered it on and admired the amplified vision. A tap on the right zoomed in and out; a tap on the left toggled the thermal vision.

Mara got to her feet and roamed the tunnel, memorizing the painted symbols along the walls.

The thermal view revealed all the hidden details; a rat scurrying to her left, and a snake slithering into a crack in the wall to her right.

At a junction with four possible paths, she stopped and listened carefully.

There was a faint, rhythmic sound echoing through the space. The direction of its source was hard to place.

She tapped the forehead of the helmet to activate the eye.

A dull whir filled the silence as it processed the data.

Predictions appeared in the heads-up. It scrapped some and recalculated and at a pace that was impossible to follow.

Finally, it settled on the most likely outcome: a human approaching from the second tunnel on the left.

Heart pounding with excitement, she waited. It settled on ninety-eight percent certainty.

She held her breath.

The steps grew louder.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Almost.

Gordon appeared from the exact predicted location.

He turned the corner—and nearly jumped out of his skin.

“Fucking hell!”

Mara yanked off the helmet, breathless with exhilaration. She’d never been able to test the helmet outside of the controlled environment of the Armory.

“It worked!” she exclaimed. “It knew which way you’d come from! ”

Gordon’s eyebrows shot up, his breath still heavy from the scare. He held out a hand, silently asking to see it. She passed it over and he examined it with open curiosity. “Can it replay what you saw?”

“It might be a little tight, but you can try.”

He slid it carefully on his head, and she tapped the replay function.

He stood perfectly still, so it must’ve been working.

“This is amazing,” he said in awe. “Do you own it, or does it belong to Hyperion?”

“It’s mine and they don’t know a helmet with a synth-mind is currently out there. I don’t want it to be taken if Dawson starts searching my apartment next. Max was outside again tonight—I think Dawson knows I’ve been using the biometrics to get in late.”

Gordon’s expression darkened as he handed it back. “You can store it in Crux. The map covers a hidden compartment that we use to store valuables. As for the door, I can give you an override in the key.” He shook his head, clearly frustrated. “I should’ve thought of that earlier. I'm sorry.”

She wanted to hug him again—wanted to feel that warmth that stirred inside her when they touched—but she remained still. This was all professional. Gordon didn’t have feelings for her. Why would he want Dawson’s leftovers? He had just been too nice to say anything before.

“Thank you. For everything.” She hesitated, then dug into her pocket and pulled out the brass key. “Oh, and I wanted to give you this.”

He took it gently, the tips of his fingers brushing against hers. Such a small touch, but she'd take anything.

“Is this an old key?” he asked.

“I found it in an antique shop a while ago. It’s a replica, but you’re always unlocking things, so… I thought you might like it.”

That familiar crooked smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Thank you. What are these little notches for?”

“They move the pins inside the lock so the cylinder can rotate. You can’t hack them. I think it takes these long, skinny tools. ”

“Hm, those locks probably don’t rat out whoever’s opening it,” he muttered.

“Do you like it?” she asked quietly.

His eyes met hers, and his smile widened enough to make her chest feel too tight. How did that smile get to her so easily?

“It’s great,” he said, then nodded toward the helmet in her hands. “We can drop that on the way. My bike’s near the Crux entrance, and you’ll need a different coat.”

She glanced down at her long black one as she fell into step beside him. “No long tunnel walks tonight?”

“Tonight we ride.”